


Family Feud

by salamandelbrot



Series: Old School Wrasslesmut [10]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: 1993, Anal Fisting, Anal Gaping, Asphyxiation, Dirty Talk, Gangbang, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sloppy Seconds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:05:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5188040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salamandelbrot/pseuds/salamandelbrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With even less build or follow up than the match it was inspired by, here is some old school wrasslesmut to the tune of the Harts vs. Shawn Michaels and his Totally Gimmick Appropriate Knights at Survivor Series 1993.</p><p>Abandon all shame, ye who enter here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Feud

**Author's Note:**

> If a match involves the pretty-boy heel on his knees, begging off the four-on-one beating he’s about to get from the babyfaces (five on one if you count their cornerman), I ask you, discerning wrasslefans, does such a match not cry out for gratuitous gangbang PWP? 
> 
> My only regret is the lack of double penetration, but I suppose I left a prequel hook for it.

“What? No Hart sisters?”

It was a fair question, Shawn thought, but Davey Boy didn’t seem to agree. “Boy Toy, if you’d rather run your mouth than get the seeing to of your life, the door is right over there.”

With a moue of mock contrition, Shawn sunk gracefully to his knees in front of Bret. Then, sticking his gum on the underside of the adjacent bench and casting a significant look at Davey Boy, he opened his mouth.

Much to his annoyance, Bret was apparently too busy opening a condom packet to enjoy the show. Shawn waved it away impatiently.

“I’m clean.” He leaned forward.

Bret grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him back. “Hey.” He tilted Shawn’s head back to meet his eyes. “Do you understand that we’re in a business where strangers routinely bleed on each other?”

Shawn sighed theatrically and made a show of checking an imaginary watch while Bret donned the condom.

The Hitman was very polite about it, very gentlemanly. He didn’t grab or thrust, just brushed Shawn’s hair out of his face and murmured complimentary nothings. Trust Bret to pick now as the one time to stop being bossy. As far as Shawn was concerned, the only thing more boring than giving a blowjob to a guy who insisted on being a gentleman about it was giving a fucking interminable blowjob to a gentleman wearing a condom.

Pulling back, Shawn wiped his mouth and glared up at Bret. “Just fuck me. If I wanted to suck off a ballon animal, I’d go find Doink.”

Bret rolled his eyes. “Come on, then.” He offered Shawn a hand up, which Shawn pointedly ignored.

Flipping his hair out of the way with practiced panache, Shawn settled onto his back. “Enjoy it while you can, boys, because this is the only time you’re going to see this” - a wiggle of his shoulders against the bench for emphasis - “tonight.”

Bret had the unmitigated fucking gall to hook the leg when he leaned in for a kiss. “Real cute, Hitman,” was what Shawn started to say before Bret got a finger inside him. Then he just moaned.

“Okay?”

“Yes, of course it’s fucking okay! Come on!”

“Easy,” muttered Bret, pressing another finger in. “Just let me know if I hurt you.”

Bret didn’t hurt him. Bret made him writhe, opening him up with confident, careful fingers. Adjusting Shawn’s knee on his shoulder with one hand, he guided his cock in with the other.

The both moaned. It was a good position, even if they had gotten there by mutual sniping, and Bret could get in deep. Gentleman that he was, Bret reached down to stroke Shawn’s cock with one warm, skilled hand.

Bret’s movements were careful and precise, never getting too rough or too out of control. Shawn hated how good it felt. He was damned if he was going to come on Bret’s cock without making the Excellence of Execution lose his cool even a little. He raked a hand over Bret’s chest, catching a nipple with one nail. Bret hissed in surprise and jerked forward, pushing Shawn’s leg up higher. More deliberately, Shawn repeated the motion, this time dragging his nail over the other nipple. Bret’s grip tightened on his cock. Encouraged, Shawn slid his other hand between them, pinching Bret’s nipples hard and feeling his thrusts becoming a little more uneven.

“Am I hurting you?” Shawn asked sweetly.

Bret glared down at him. “What do you think?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” 

Shawn resumed his previous rough treatment, scratching, pinching, and twisting, and laughed at Bret’s obvious struggle to maintain his controlled, methodical pace. He didn’t even mind that he came first, as Bret was kissing him breathless and running a gentle thumb over the head of his cock. It didn’t take the Hitman long to follow anyways, and when he did it was with Shawn biting his lip and clawing red weals into his chest.

Bret had barely pulled out of him, with a sappy kiss on the forehead and an honest-to-God “thank you,” when the next Hart brother took his place.

This one had dark hair and a mustache, and Shawn realized with a jolt of arousal that he didn’t even know his name. He was suddenly very aware of the other Harts watching, five of them waiting their turn. It felt like he was back in the AWA, making time with the boys from Badd Company while their sleazy manager, camcorder in hand, chain smoked expensive cigars and called him every filthy name in the book.

The guy was too keyed up to last long, no surprise there. Shawn knew how hot he was, freshly fucked and all on offer. This nobody was lucky he even got inside before he blew his load. He passed Shawn’s ankles to the next Hart in line and got out of the way.

Keith Hart positioned himself with grim, serious focus and pushed into Shawn with one steady thrust. He was rougher than Bret, and Shawn relished it, jacking himself to match the punishing pace.

“Ah, fuck, Keith!” he cried, arching and twisting in the blond’s grip as he came.

“I’m _Bruce_ ,” growled apparently-not-Keith, slamming into him harder. Shawn managed to gasp “whatever” as he was just about folded in half.

It wasn’t long until Bruce pulled out with a grunt and stalked off towards the showers.

“Yeah, you’re fucking welcome!” Shawn called after him, earning a guffaw from Jim Neidhart.

“Think you can remember my name?” he asked, grabbing Shawn by the wrist and flipping him onto his belly. “Think I can make you?”

Shawn liked The Anvil. He was his kind of guy.

“Bet you can,” he laughed, as Niedhart squeezed his wrists together behind his back. “Wanna show me?”

“You always were a slut.” Neidhart gripped his wrists in one hand and Shawn let him, relishing Owen’s groan at the pretty picture they made together. Neidhart was bearing down on him, gut pressed against Shawn’s back, not inside him yet but grinding against his hole, letting Shawn feel the size of him. “You want this?”

“Please.” Then, after a pause, “Anvil.”

Neidhart fucked him brutally. He was too big, too rough. It was perfect. He kept hold of Shawn’s wrists with one hand, forcing them up and making Shawn’s shoulders scream. With his other hand the Anvil slapped Shawn’s ass, reached forward to twist a nipple, then yanked his head back by the ponytail.

“Again.”

“Anvil,” Shawn half moaned. Satisfied, Neidhart let go of his hair, dropping him unceremoniously back the the bench without missing a stoke.

Speeding up his thrusts, Neidhart dragged Shawn up with him to a sitting position. “Ride me. Show ‘em how bad you want it.”

Shawn bounced and rocked on the Anvil’s lap. He tossed his head back and moaned when he found an angle he liked, putting on a show as he used the big man as a sex toy. Neidhart squeezed his still-trapped wrists behind his back, giving a short, sharp thrust up like he just couldn’t help himself.

“Anvil,” Shawn said again, low and sultry, leaning his head back on Neidhart’s shoulder and rolling his hips. “Anvil, Anvil, Anvil.”

Neidhart slammed him forward onto the bench, driving into him harder than before. Shawn barely managed to catch himself on his forearms, grunting at the impact.

“Hey, careful!” Bret yelled. Neidhart shoved him away and gripped Shawn’s hips with both hands.

“Jesus, Shawn, are you okay?”

Shawn, having regained enough composure to find this endlessly irritating, tossed his head and moaned for Bret’s benefit. “Oh, _oh_ , _Anvil_ , harder!”

The Anvil complied, laughing. “Aw, fuck, Shawnie, you are a piece of work,” he panted, dragging Shawn’s hips back in time with his powerful thrusts. He gripped hard when he came, and Shawn was sure he’d have finger shaped bruises decorating his hips.

“Now _that’s_ how you fuck him,” said Neidhart to someone Shawn couldn’t see, patting him on the ass proprietarily.

Davey Boy slipped into him with no trouble then. Hell, every few strokes, he slipped back out again by accident. Shawn was so loose after the poundings Niedhart and what’s-his-name, Brian, had given him, he barely felt the stretch of it.

“You alright?” Davey Boy stopped, pulling back to look at him. “Not hurting?”

“No, fine,” he panted. He might have left it at that but those big, concerned, puppy-dog eyes made him feel spiteful, like Marty was about to ask where he’d been and was anything wrong, _you can tell me, Shawn, baby, I just want to help._ “I can barely fucking feel you.”

If Davey Boy was fazed by the venom in his tone he didn’t show it, just chuckled lightly and placed his hands on Shawn’s hips, maneuvering him gently onto knees and elbows.

“Of course you can’t,” he said, in a tone of affectionate good humor. “Look at the state of you.” Shawn dropped his head to his arms and moaned as Davey Boy spread him open with his thumbs. “What am I supposed to do with this now, boys?”

The Gomez Addams looking brother, who’d fucked him second and might be named Keith, gave a small huff of affectionate dismissal. “Now, come on, Davey, be nice. Just because he’s gone a couple rounds already — for our benefit — doesn’t mean you won’t have a good time too.” 

“Easy for you to say, you had him before Niedhart. Here, look for yourself.”

Shawn felt two fingers slip into him, followed almost immediately by two more.

“Oh,” said Keith, sliding his hand in up to the thumb joint and giving an experimental twist of his wrist that made Shawn whine. He pulled his hand out gently and planted a kiss on the small of Shawn’s back. “Poor thing.”

“This a turn-on for you, Shawn?” asked Bret, kneeling down beside him. Shawn might take issue with his condoms and his soft touch, but this time he put enough of a growl in his voice that it could pass for contemptuous rather than compassionate, bless him. “Bunch of guys talking about you like a piece of meat?”

Shawn grabbed his wrist and dragged Bret’s hand to his dripping cock. “Fuck do you think?”

Bret gave a huff of laughter and winked at him before gripping his cock hard. “I think we ruined you. I think you’d better hope that big bodyguard of yours likes your pretty mouth, or you’re going to have to find a new way of paying him, Sexy Boy.”

“Shit, _Bret_.” He came with a shocked laugh on his lips, jerking his hips into Bret’s hand. He could feel Davey Boy prying him open to watch his orgasm from the inside. “Oh God, oh God, Bulldog, you filthy fuck.”

Before long half the fingers inside him withdrew. At first, Shawn assumed Davey Boy was going to jack off while fingering him, getting off on how used and open he felt. But, after a moment, the hand settled on his left hip and, with a slow, determined motion, Bulldog pressed his right hand into Shawn up to the wrist.

It was easier going than it would have been an hour ago but, God, the man had big hands. Shawn panted against his folded arms and took it.

“Okay?” Bret asked, for possibly the millionth time.

“Yeah.” He didn’t have the wherewithal to think of anything biting to say. Davey Boy was curling his hand into a not quite closed fist, pulling back enough to slide his dick into the channel between his fingers.

“Wish you were full of our come,” muttered Davey, driving his fist deeper with sharp little thrusts.

Shawn made an approving noise into his arms. “Fucking _Bret_ ,” he mumbled, and he meant it to sting. Bret kissed his temple and smoothed his hair back.

Bulldog gave up on fucking his fist into him and changed tactics, jerking himself off with short, quick strokes that dragged his knuckles across Shawn’s prostate. Shawn buried his face in his arms, biting his own wrist and trying not to sob.

Davey Boy came with a groan and, after a shuddering breath, pulled out and began the process of gently uncurling his fingers and working his hand free. He rubbed Shawn’s side with his other hand.

“That’s it, easy does it.” He leaned forward to kiss the nape of Shawn’s neck. With a last, affectionate pat on the hip as he pulled his hand free, Bulldog eased him down onto the bench and stepped back.

After a moment to catch his breath, Shawn lilted himself up shakily and tried to turn over. With some unsolicited help from Bret, he eventually managed it. Shawn sprawled on the bench, legs akimbo, and beckoned to the last Hart brother. He was a fucking mess and he knew it.

“Now, usually I’d apologize for not giving you the Heartbreak Kid one hundred percent quality seal of approval experience. But I bet you’re used to getting sloppy, mm, sixths?” Owen gave a short laugh, then kissed him so hard he tasted blood. Now that was more like it. He lifted his chin and grinned at Owen. “Yeah, come on, shut me up.”

“Like this?” Owen wrapped his hands around Shawn’s throat, grinning back almost sheepishly.

“Fuck, yeah, let’s try it.”

It was intense. He dug his heels into Owen’s back and clawed at his shoulders. Either Owen was a lot bigger than his brothers or Shawn was a lot tighter while he was getting choked out. Judging by the noises Owen was making above him, it was good for both of them.

Of course, the Royal Canadian Fun Police had to charge in and put a stop to that.

“Come on, be careful with that,” said Bret, pulling Owen’s hands away. “Look, I know you’re both having a good time and all, but asphyxiation is dangerous.”

Still gasping, Shawn leaned up and whispered in Owen’s ear, “Do it again, he’s not the boss of you.”

He did. It was even better the second time, maybe because he was already short on oxygen or maybe because of Bret’s shocked dismay.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on. What did I say?”

“Fuck off, Bret, you’re not in charge. We’re both adults here, we can — hey!” This time, Owen resisted when Bret moved to pull him off.

Shawn came with stars behind his eyes and the sound of Hart family strife in his ears.

**Author's Note:**

> (I leave the question of whether Stu Hart spends this entire fic standing in a corner, watching, to the reader’s discretion.)


End file.
